Back to the OR

Joshua headed back to the operating room this week to have some more work done on his nose and palate.



My dad showed up the night before bearing homemade lasagne and ready for a Rummikub marathon with the big kids.

We were almost ready. I had a little talk with Joshua about everything, wanting to prepare him a little bit, without giving too much information. I solemnly informed him that, due to doctor's orders, he would not be having his morning banana the next day.

Joshua looks forward to a banana every morning almost as much as I look forward to coffee, so this was news was not received very well. The next morning, though, he decided it was rather exciting to be plucked out of bed and put straight into the car to go somewhere with Mommy and Daddy. Maybe we're going camping again, he may have decided. As we drove down the freeway, he looked out the window with the anticipation of a new adventure, giggling occasionally.

Cruel, I know.

At the hospital he looked around with vague suspicion, which slowly grew as more and more people in scrubs came to talk with us.

Most of our questions were answered with, "The surgeon will discuss that with you when he comes."

We had our doubts about that. Joshua's surgeon is widely recognized in our area for his excellent work. However, his interpersonal communication skills, in my opinion, leave much to be desired.

I did get my hopes up, though. Since, after all, he was rearranging the contours of my son's face, I thought he might take a little time to discuss that with us. We had even acquired and brought along some pictures of noses from Joshua's birth city.

But true to form, he shook our hands, briefly glanced at the photo, mumbled a few cryptic and unintelligible comments, and disappeared through the surgery doors again just as I was opening my mouth to say, "I have a few quest... "

"What about...wait...hello?...come back!"

I turned to my husband, who looked as bewildered as I felt.

"Did you catch any of that?" I asked him.

"Something about, 'He's going to look a lot different.'" He looked at me. "When he comes out to talk to us after wards, I'll hold him down and you ask the questions."

As for Joshua, we learned that he was not going to get any "happy juice" this time to ease his transition away from us into surgery. The nurse, who clearly understood preschoolers, had a better plan.

"Come with me, Joshua," she said with excitement as she held out her hand. "You get to come with me and push a button to open these big doors!"

He fell for it, and taking her hand, he eagerly went to push the button. We had one last glimpse of them walking down the hall to surgery, she gushing over what a good job he did pushing the button, and he marching off with a swagger of self-importance and accomplishment.

Cruel trickery, he would soon discover.

Everything went as planned, though, and less than four hours later we were home, trying to catch a glimpse of his new nose under the bruises and blood and stitches.

Fortunately, there are no arm restraints this time and his diet restrictions are not as strict as they were after his last surgery. Our biggest challenge now is to explain to this rambunctious little wild child who refuses pain medication that one is supposed to take it easy after surgery, not jump off furniture and race through the house and throw trains in the air.

We just have to get the stitches to hold a few more days...